With You

A Terrible Tragedy

One morning in the spring of 3441, Elian rushed into the greenhouse where Celebelen was working while Thranduil stood by and watched. She urgently told them that she had spotted their army marching to return to the forest. The prince and princess exchanged a look, and quickly began making their way to the gates.

As they walked, Celebelen braided all of her hair and tucked it out of the way and rubbed her hands together roughly to knock off the dirt on her palms. Thranduil kept pace with her as she sped up, feeling the deep foreboding that was coming from her and his own anxiety spike in response. The host that arrived at the gate was incredibly smaller than the one that left under the king. Both of their hearts felt the initial blow, realizing that only a third of their people had returned from the battle.

"Where are the rest of them?" the princess breathed, trying to hide the terrible emotions beginning to spiral in her heart.

Clion stepped forward with something in his hands covered by a familiar cloak. His voice was solemn and quiet when he spoke to Thranduil, offering the object to him, "I am sorry, Lord Thranduil. The king is dead."

The prince snatched it from him as Celebelen gasped, and opened the cloak to find Oropher's crown nestled inside. He held it up to inspect it closely, as if he hoped this was a fake. When he was satisfied that it was real, he looked up at Clion with a deadly expression. He held the crown low as his fist tightened so firmly around it that everyone nearby could see a trickle of blood drip onto the stone at their feet. The fury coursing through him was unprecedented, but both of them could feel all eyes on them.

He took a deep breath, then replied, "Welcome home. All of you are owed all the comforts our kingdom has to offer. Please rest, as I am certain you are weary. The infirmary is open to all who may need it."

The silent sadness hung in the air as the soldiers that had returned began filtering into the palace. No one seemed to want to look at each other, and there was no great celebration. Celebelen's heart shattered into a million pieces as she looked among the sad faces of those who had returned. She took stock of all the familiar faces that had not returned as tears flowed down her face, so many of her friends missing. All she could feel from Thranduil was an inferno of anger. She felt shame and hopelessness creep into her heart as she blamed herself for this tragedy.

She turned away from the gate and murmured softly, trying to hide the fact that she was weeping, "I will be in the infirmary."

When he nodded curtly to signal he had heard her, she walked away. As soon as she was far enough down a dark hallway, a sob threatened to erupt from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to hold back the wail of despair that was burning in her chest. Tears continued to pour from her eyes as she held both of her shaking hands to her mouth to muffle the sobs that just couldn't be held back. So many of her people were dead, and it was her first experience with true loss.

She wanted to fall to her knees and curl up into a ball to weep, but she knew they would need her in the infirmary. Desperately, she tried to breathe deep to gain control of herself. Her head needed to be on straight before she could treat her patients. She could not stop the tears from flowing, but she finally swallowed her sobs enough that she felt she could sprint through the halls towards the infirmary.

Most of the wounds that were brought to her were ones sustained on the trip back and not from the war itself. A few people tried to comfort her with words, but she merely thanked them as she continued to work quietly. Elian insisted that she take a pause between patients to drink the water she had brought for her, telling her that her body needed to replace the water she was losing. While her hands were steady when she had a patient beneath them, the glass of water shook terribly as she tried to drink.